As a classically trained pianist, it took me decades to master the art of musical performance. But it only took me a matter of days to learn how to “perform” like an anti-racist.
Several years ago, I enrolled in an online anti-racism class, and I quickly learned two things: what not to say, and how to call out others who weren’t using the right terms with the correct tone. Everyone in the class was there because they wanted to do better, but sometimes that desire got twisted into shame. It was clear this shame impeded sincere and open discussion and was also sometimes used to draw out “confessions” of deep-seated racism. I watched and listened closely, determined to do everything “right.”
In the weeks and months that followed, I practiced what I’d learned. And practiced. And practiced some more. I practiced at home, at work and even at church. I especially practiced being an anti-racist on social media in accordance with the rules of engagement I was taught.
But the more I practiced, the more I began to wonder if I was actually becoming less racist. I couldn’t help but notice I was more touchy and difficult to talk with while discussing racism in other spaces.
This puzzled me. But the musician in me knew just what to do — drill down, tighten up technique, memorize the material and complete the class. Unfortunately, rehearsing left me feeling tone deaf and awkward. I wondered whether the problem was with me, the topic or the method.
After discussing my experience with friends of different races, they confirmed what I had suspected: This specific course had not helped me become an anti-racist. Surface level activism isn’t what I had signed up for, at least not intentionally, but it was what I had learned. I was taught the “Chopsticks” version of anti-racism when what I had been craving to learn was a Beethoven sonata.
This personal desire gained added meaning for me when leaders of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints called upon members to “root out racism.” I felt a stirring within, as if my soul was being summoned to join with others in a process of building loving relationships while working toward establishing a more peaceful and just society. But I had also learned that a lack of discrimination in interpersonal relationships was not enough — I needed to find the maestros who could help me comprehend how racism has influenced policy and systems. It became clear that diversity, equity and inclusion, or DEI, efforts, grounded in an understanding of conflict resolution, would be the best way to tune up my endeavor.
Because my first attempt to be involved in anti-racism was less than positive, I can understand some criticisms about DEI. Some DEI initiatives are ineffective. However, DEI work is about much more than race, and just as an improperly trained piano teacher is not an accurate reflection of the entire profession, a negative encounter with one practitioner is not a fair representation of the invaluable work being done by so many other professionals.
I sought opportunities to learn from several experts in the field in hopes of finding better mentors. For example, Desmond Lomax of the Arbinger Institute is a gifted facilitator of difficult conversations with the ability to see each person’s humanity, even in the face of prejudice and disrespect. Michelle Love-Day has a commitment to student-focused, equitable schools, exemplifying grace when pressured by opposition.
During this time, I became the executive director of Mormon Women for Ethical Government. Because our advocacy efforts impact diverse groups of people, it is essential that a variety of voices guide our work. We invited LaShawn Williams to speak to our members and provide customized training for our leaders. Her relational change model encourages participants to evaluate individual strengths and weaknesses in a framework that sparks improvement across all aspects of life.
We’ve also worked closely with Alexis and Chanté of Sinclair Consulting Group, the creators of Let’s Talk, Sis. Using the power of human connection, they employ conflict resolution and interpersonal dynamics to enhance and honor diversity within an organization.
Each of these Utah-based professionals approaches their work very differently from my original trainers. Instead of shame, I was met with grace, humanity, relational respect and connection. They work from places of rigor, but also generosity. Their tireless efforts help establish spaces of safety and belonging for all people — including me, a white woman from a conservative background who offered a willingness to learn. They taught me that it is worth tolerating some discomfort in order to grow and become more empathetic.
But we are in a period when political anxiety is high and trust in others and institutions is low, so empathy can be hard to come by. Intentional and well-crafted DEI programs can increase understanding, equality and respect while addressing social conflict through nonviolent, relational approaches. They can be a powerful antidote to any sort of animus and discrimination.
It is my hope that lawmakers in Nebraska (where I currently live) and Utah (where I am moving) can be persuaded to consider experiences like mine. The overgeneralization of DEI goals and programs as inherently discriminatory completely ignores proof of their benefits. We cannot effectively engage in such transformative work — where people with a variety of identities, backgrounds and opinions can thrive — when laws either prohibit or effectively prevent public institutions from maintaining or implementing the practices needed for human flourishing.
In a symphony, multiple and unique musicians combine to achieve balance and clarity. Beautiful harmonies emerge because of their diversity, not in spite of them. When the baton is in the hand of an adept conductor, the music is rich and glorious!
Emma Petty Addams is a mother, musician and the co-executive director of Mormon Women for Ethical Government. She currently lives in Omaha, Nebraska, with her husband and three sons and will be moving to Salt Lake City this summer.